Little wolf - Ivar Lothbrok

I

The sky was blue and colourless, like a calm ocean that was binding it's time to break into a triumphant storm. The hairs on the back of her neck stood precariously as she watched the boys spar with passionate fury, once again.

There were five of them. One of them looked much older and sophisticated than the rest, with his hair in a long braid, while the others seemed more arrogant, though all of them, except for one, had chilling blue eyes.

Ylva just observed as the devil's advocate, waiting for the men to return to their village without her being seen, once again, so that she could test her strength after such a long time in the wilderness.

Soon, the sun was beginning to retreat behind a bed of meadows in the distance, and as were the vikings, or so she thought.

An icy breeze settled over the moorlands, along with a wolfish grin across her face, once she had hit the bullseye with her arrows on each and every one of the targets before her.

She's in love with bad luck so it seems, as something was not right. The birds were still void of the immediate area, with their incessant chirping. The wind was unusually chaotic, but also lifeless. Her senses took over, soon realising that they were still here.

She could smell the insatiable sexual appetite of the men behind her as she slyly withdrew her blade from the leather scabbard. The blade was pressed against his throat when she turned, faster than the time it took for him to draw a breath. It was one of the men from before, she noticed, receiving a desperate look in response from the man.

"Who are you?" She questioned calmly, void of emotion, to receive no response. The man before her managed to shift and make eye contact with the other men, whom she had completely forgotten about. Exhaling deeply to compose herself, Ylva sent him crashing to the ground, with his shoulder in a discomforting position to say the least, the blade still instinctively pressed to the neck of this man.

Only then had she become aware of the other men slowly approaching, with a stench of gruelling anger at how she handled the man.

"Who are you?" She repeated firmly, rage building at how cowardly these men were behaving, and beginning to wonder whether they spoke her language, as silence washed over them again - circling through the dark air like a vulture over the rotting dead.

"We are the sons of King Ragnar Lothbrok." The older of them responded pridefully, as though that was to mean something to her.

"What is that to me, sons of Ragnar?" She questioned, unable to pull her eyes from the men standing before her, and neither them with her.

An obnoxious man from the group, as she had previously observed to be the one with the snake in the eye, stepped ahead of the others, with a roaring loudness as he spoke, "it means, that if you want to keep those arms of yours attached to your body, I suggest," he paused for a moment and snarled continuing," you remove that dagger from my brothers throat!" His words echoed through the air, daring her to pick her poison.

Ylva stared back at the man, before looking down to whom she held restrained, looking back up with doe eyes - confusing the men - before stating,"but, I believe he was the one that was about to attack an innocent, helpless woman from behind," her eyes unmoving from the mans.

Intertwined with the apocalyptic passion of the wind, came a sadistic howl of laughter from one of the men, provoking an amused curl to her mouth. The pity for her fell from their faces like a cracked mask.

Silence surrounded once again, other than the struggling of the man beneath her.
"If you do not harm me," Ylva spoke, slowly releasing the pressure of her blade, "I will not harm-" Her words were cut off by the man beneath her swapping positions with her, now aiming her own blade to her neck.

Ylva's eyebrows wrinkled together, as she tutted in response to being disarmed.
"Do it," she assuredly spoke. "Do it!" She spoke once again, her words laced with nitroglycerin, and his eyes ablaze with anger.
"Kill me. An unarmed girl, it's not like anyone else is watching, other than the gods of course." A smirk placing itself on her face, as she whispered the last part menacingly, but loud enough for all of them to hear.

"Don't do it Hvitserk." The older voice spoke, with an empathetic tone. "The god's must have brought her here for a reason," the brother beside him with darker hair nodded in agreement, before continuing, "lets see what Aslaug thinks."

All of the brothers murmured their agreement, excluding the man who laughed previously. That man just stared at Ylva from afar before crawling away, to her surprise, towards Kattegat.